


Cogito, Ergo Sum

by AndyAO3



Series: Angry Marshmallows and Sad Robots [11]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout 4
Genre: Brotherhood Politics, Gen, Mentions of Arthur Maxson/Paladin Danse, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 09:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6560947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndyAO3/pseuds/AndyAO3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's probably too late to save him, but that doesn't stop Ted from trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cogito, Ergo Sum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ghostchibi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostchibi/gifts).



> I was honestly surprised that these two were this civil and level-headed. They actually managed to act like two people who have known each other for ten years. Like, not gonna lie, writing this gave me some serious feels.
> 
> God, I've made myself sad.

An hour before they were set to reach their destination, and Elder Maxson stood at his usual place on the command deck, surveying the scenery below. Ahead and to the west lay a vast expanse of scorched earth-- and beyond that, the Commonwealth.

Sentinel Davies smiled faintly as he approached, not bothering to put effort into making his steps silent. He didn't dare tell Maxson why he was smiling, what he was thinking. That was fine, however; he and Maxson never lacked for other things to discuss.

"Looks like home, doesn't it?" he remarked. Maxson hummed, not turning to face him. The Elder's attention was on the ground below, speeding by underneath the airship.

"I don't think so," Maxson replied, "but then I thought of the rubble and crumbling remnants of civilization in the inner city as 'home', not the vast wastes that lay beyond."

Davies shrugged, stepping forward so he stood next to Maxson. The Elder was much broader than he was, but no taller. "Still applies, man. I mean, look at that crater. Doesn't that remind you of the smoking pit where the White House used to be?"

Maxson laughed. The resulting smile that tugged at his features underneath his beard lingered for longer than an Elder's smile probably should. "I'll give you that," he admitted. "Any more word from Paladin Danse?"

"He's marked a couple of spots for scavving already and says he has a lead on the squad that went missing a few years back." Davies smirked. "Unless you were asking something else."

"You do know that what you're suggesting is a serious breach in protocol, yes?"

The Sentinel snickered and patted the Elder on the back, leaning forward against a support post with his free hand and looking out over the countryside. "Ahh, you know me, Arty. Never been one for protocol."

Maxson snorted. "I should have you locked up for insubordination."

"Shit, man, you'd be well within your rights to punt me off the flight deck if you wanted."

"Now that would definitely cause a mutiny."

"I think you overestimate how much people like me on this ship."

It was then that Maxson turned his head and leveled an odd look at Davies, raising an eyebrow. For a second it seemed like he was about to say something, but he must have thought better of it; moments later, his attention returned to their view of the outside world, of their destination.

Secretly, Davies was glad that Maxson hadn't questioned him. That the Elder didn't drag the idea of treason out into the open, forcing them both to face how much thought they'd put into it. In truth, a mutiny was one of Davies' contingency plans in case the Brotherhood decided their warpath wasn't bloody enough; he'd even thought of which troops would support him, and which might support Maxson. Considered how he might create a schism in the ranks without losing too many good people in the process.

He was almost certain that Maxson had considered such a thing too, from the other side of the fight. It was the kind of chessmaster bullshit that could really weigh on an old friendship.

"Sarah would hate this," Davies commented. "So would Owyn."

Maxson's brow furrowed. "This is no different from fighting the Enclave."

"The Enclave didn't use innocent slaves as cannon fodder."

"So you don't count their sentry bots, I suppose? Or their eyebots? Or Eden, for that matter? I should think you'd be an advocate for all of them too, Theodore."

Davies winced. "It's not the same and you know it."

"Isn't it?" Maxson folded his arms and straightened his back to make himself appear taller, peering at the Sentinel with a critical look. "I've read your writing. Do you still stand by it?"

"I do."

"Then you're being a hypocrite. Machines are machines, and human beings are human beings. These synths may appear or even act human, but they aren't human at all. They're eyebots, protectrons, assaultrons, just with a human shape." Maxson sighed. "You're letting your cognitive dissonance over their appearance get the better of you."

In the deepest corners of the back of his mind, the Sentinel fretted. He always did. Uncertainty over his own motivations was a fact of his life-- always had been, probably always would be. But the rest of him knew better. "Still like making up monsters to fight so you can feel like the hero, huh, Arthur?" he teased.

Maxson turned his head to give Davies a bland stare. "And you're still playing at being the idealist. You're worse than Lyons was."

"I think you mean 'better'. See, unlike some people, I don't make a habit of ass-kissing."

"Your husband would dispute that, I'd imagine."

"Was that a dirty joke? Aww, li'l Arty's all grown up and making his own innuendos!"

The Elder rolled his eyes. "Please stop."

"Never. I'm going to make fun of you 'til the end of time. Or until you manage to give me solid proof that you've actually seen a boob. In real life, up close. Nipple and all. Male, female, or otherwise."

Underneath his beard, Maxson turned an interesting shade of pink. He didn't dignify the Sentinel's words with a response, pursing his lips and frowning at the outside world through the window.

Davies let the silence drag on for a while before he spoke again. "You still miss her, don't you?"

"Always," Maxson responded, not missing a beat. His pouty look softened into something more thoughtful, more introspective. "I have a theory, you know. I don't think it was an accident."

"Nobody really thinks it was an accident." At least Davies didn't. Sarah Lyons, dying out in the field? Nah. Never. He'd seen her fight before, and considering the timing of it? Nothing hanging around DC at the time would've been big enough to kill her. Maim her, maybe, but that hadn't stopped Cross or Ingram. "Not that they'll say anything."

"Well. If luck holds, a good fight against a truly reprehensible enemy will remind the would-be dissenters of why we're called the Brotherhood instead of a loose coalition. We can disagree, but we're a family. Humanity as a whole is our extended family tree. In the end, what we're doing is protecting humanity-- from itself, if need be."

"Fancy. You practice that in front of a mirror?"

Maxson laughed again. It was a warm, bright sound that reminded Davies of just how young the so-called Elder really was. "Sometimes," he admitted. "The message has to stay consistent when you're being watched. You never know when someone might call you on even the slightest slip of the tongue."

"Oh, sure. Appearances are important. Can't have somebody smearing your image." Davies blew a raspberry to show how seriously he took such an idea. "Seriously, Arthur. You're fucking twenty. Stop worrying so much about consistent messages and politics. You've got years before you need to start thinking about being taken seriously."

"You don't know what it's like," Maxson started to say, but Davies shook his head.

"I'm not kidding, man. You keep this up and you'll burn out." Davies thought of MacNamara, back in the Mojave. He thought of the pointless fight with the NCR over land neither faction could hope to keep. He thought of what had happened when Veronica had tried to go to the Followers.

He thought of Sarah Lyons, and the bitterly stubborn Outcasts who had probably killed her.

"Come with me," he said to Maxson. "Let me show you what a bird's eye view can't. C'mon, boots-on-the-ground field missions. The Prydwen will stay in the air without you for a few days. Let's be our own eyes and ears instead of letting other people do it for us, alright? You can be the first friendly face to greet Danse at that old police station he's holed up in."

Maxson bowed his head and sighed. "You know I can't, Theodore," he said, and he sounded genuinely regretful. "Not even for Danse. I'm sorry."

Davies was sorry too. Sorry on behalf of the whole goddamn Commonwealth, and every person in it who'd get written off as an acceptable loss because Maxson hadn't had a chance to see their faces and know them as people. He smiled as he shrugged it off, shaking his head; in his mind, he was already ticking off another box on the checklist of things that would mark Maxson as being beyond his reach.

None of this was going to end well, was it?

"Ah, well," he said. "Worth a shot, I guess."

 


End file.
